


It's All Fine in the Here and Now

by Majure



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-26 21:02:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18185699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Majure/pseuds/Majure
Summary: The unfortunate thing is, Klaus is a good soldier.Good meaning that he had a vested interest in not dying and could tell the barrel of his gun from his own ass. It hadn’t been that way, in the beginning. In the beginning he had been confused and helpless, somehow all too willing to go along with being thrust into a war. Later, back in the present, Klaus will wonder why he didn’t just leave when he got the first chance.or, Why Klaus stays.





	It's All Fine in the Here and Now

**Author's Note:**

> "Some things are destined to be - it just takes us a couple tries to get there." -- JR Ward.

The unfortunate thing is, Klaus is a good soldier. 

Good meaning that he had a vested interest in not dying and could tell the barrel of his gun from his own ass. It hadn’t been that way, in the beginning. In the beginning he had been confused and helpless, somehow all too willing to go along with being thrust into a war. Later, back in the present, Klaus will wonder why he didn’t just leave when he got the first chance. There were many opportunities for him to slip away into the jungle or a secluded area of camp, pop the tabs on the briefcase, and be whisked back to the comfort of his own home and the looming threat of the _apocalypse._ Maybe, he rations, that’s why he stays. But he knows that it would be a lie. 

It was hard living someone else’s life - because effectively, that’s what Klaus was doing. He slept in someone else’s cot, wore someone else’s shoes, pried a worn jacket out of a footlocker that didn’t belong to anyone anymore and slung it over his shoulders to disguise the now weeks old cuts and bruises, evidence of the twenty six hours he’d spent with Hazel and Cha-Cha. Dave had asked once, prodding at a mottled bruise between Klaus’ shoulder blades, visible only because Klaus was changing his shirt. 

“What happened here?” 

Klaus wiggled, worming away from Dave’s inquisitive fingers. He didn’t like it when Dave touched him. Or maybe the problem is that he liked it too much. Either way, Klaus stepped to the side, shoulders hunching. “Y’know, friends,” he said evasively. 

Dave’s eyebrows raised. “Some friends.” 

Klaus pulled the shirt over his shoulders. There was a hole in the shoulder where the previous owner had gotten shot. His equipment, including clothes, had been repurposed and distributed. Klaus waved a hand, carefree. “Or torturers, whatever.” 

The eyebrows climbed higher. There was a glimmer of concern in Dave’s big beautiful eyes. Goddammit. “Torturers?” 

Klaus leaned over, waving Dave in. He threw an arm around Dave’s shoulders, tugging his head to Klaus’ level. “Time police,” he said in an over loud whisper. “Because you know, I’m from the future.” 

There was a brief moment where Dave looked at him with those earnest eyes and Klaus felt… bare. He hadn’t expected his shitty not-joke to get taken seriously because seriously, who would believe that? And then, of course, Dave snorted a laugh and ducked out from under Klaus’ wiry arm. “Alright, don’t tell me,” he said, grabbing his own vest. He pointed at Klaus as he backed out of the tent, calling, “I’ll find out sooner or later, Hargreeves.” 

“Right,” Klaus said, watching as he left. “Sooner or later.” 

Their friendship developed from there. Klaus didn’t know how to feel about that. He wasn’t really the type of guy to believe in a thing like fate, but he and Dave get on like a house fire. Since that moment on the bus when Dave had grabbed his shoulder, a still bewildered Klaus had been grounded from there on. Klaus was open about his stupid powers. He figured everyone else in Vietnam was just as fucked up as he was, so if Klaus trotted around saying _Hello! I see dead people!_ The other guys would just accept it with a _me fucking too, kid._ And he was right. 

Dave never believed him, but that was alright. Klaus was used to people not believing him, but when he woke up with nightmares or the battlefield ghosts got to be too much, Dave would get up - not even grudgingly! - and hand Klaus a cigarette. They would sit together in the rain half protected by the shadow of the eve on their tent. The two of them rarely spoke during the midnight smoke breaks, but sometimes Dave would put a warm hand between Klaus’ shoulder blades as Klaus crouched trembling in the mud. 

The first time he’d done it, Klaus had flinched on instinct. Intimacy wasn’t a stranger to him, but it was the back scratching, cloying, fulfilling kind of intimacy. Not the gentle kind. Not Dave’s kind of tenderness. Dave had looked at him with sad, dark eyes. Rain dripped off the tarp above them, splattering into the mud. Their cigarettes burned, the glowing embers and smell of smoke the only colour in this little dark bubble of rain. Lost spirits milled around them but didn’t approach, and for that, Klaus was thankful. 

“Sorry,” Dave said softly, removing his hand. 

“No,” Klaus said, the yearning in his chest surprising him. “Don’t be. I’m just not used to it.” 

“Not used to people touching you?” Dave asked, but replaced his hand. The warmth of it burned through Klaus’ skin into his heart and he inhaled, closing his eyes as smoke flooded his lungs. 

“Not like that,” he sighed. _Not like you_ he wanted to say, and didn't

Around three months in to Vietnam, Klaus realized that he didn’t want to go home. Maybe he never would. Survival wasn’t a guarantee and war was hell. Klaus was luckier than most. Sometimes, ghosts of dead comrades would whisper to him to _step to the right, there are mines_ or say _Klaus, look up and you’ll see the glint of a sniper’s scope._ He learned to put up with those. When talking to the dead meant the bodies of his friends stayed warm for one more night, Klaus was more than willing to make that sacrifice. 

Little by little, he began to fit in with the troops. Chaz taught him how to field strip and clean his gun. Andrews was more than willing to share the abundance of clothes his mom sent from home. Adrian Rivers was an asshole, but he was an asshole who shared smokes and gum and once gave a dope-sick Klaus a prized MRE lemon poppyseed muffin. Their gunny sergeant was a tired, brusque man who yelled at Klaus one minute and the next was quietly allowing Klaus to slip away into the jungle for a break when his withdrawal got too bad. And Dave. _Dave._ Dave was the one who helped him get his equipment in order, who helped him get his issued dog tags, who was the first person to offer a genuine smile to Klaus. 

It was too much sometimes. Klaus didn’t know what to do with someone who saw past the tattoos, eyeliner and personality. Then again, Dave didn’t know what to do with a person like Klaus, so they were on even ground. Klaus’ original plan to avoid one David Katz had gone down the tubes almost immediately, and only when he and Dave have made promises not to die did Klaus think, maybe, _oh shit._

There were close calls, of course. A couple of times when bullets were flying over the trenches where they were crouched, Dave would snatch the collar of Klaus’ borrowed green jacket and yank him to the side, just barely avoiding a bullet. Klaus would always look at Dave, wide eyed, then flash an appreciative grin that made Dave blush under the mud and grime. Maybe that’s why Klaus put himself in danger, sometimes. The worried, angry look in Dave’s eyes is more than worth the blood and pain when Klaus is later having a gash in his shoulder stitched back up. 

“Idiot,” Dave snapped, reaching over the cot to flick Klaus in the forehead. Klaus whined and Dave said, “You could have gotten killed.” 

“Relax, Davey-boy, I’m fine. A little shrapnel never killed anyone.” 

The medic stitching Klaus’ wound paused, brow furrowing. Dave grimaced. Klaus expected the rebuttal of _of course it does, moron,_ but it never came. Instead, all Dave said was, “Don’t be a hero, Klaus. Rule number one.” 

“I thought that was double-tap.” Klaus winced as the medic finished pulling on his stitches and slapped a bandage over the gash with a muttered instruction to keep it clean. He sat up on the cot, grabbing his army jacket. 

Dave rose with him. He still looked worried. Klaus wanted to reach over and press his thumb on the wrinkle between his eyebrows until it went away. His hand twitched like it wanted to do that, too. “The rule is just do what it takes to stay alive. You hear?” 

“Yeah, man,” Klaus said. He had a feeling that the one brain cell he hadn’t yet killed off was telling him not to be himself in this moment. He slapped Dave on the shoulder. “You know me,” he said. “Always careful.” 

Anger faded out of Dave’s eyes, leaving only worry. He slung an arm around Klaus’ shoulders, careful not to jostle his newly stitched up wound but rough enough that their squad wouldn’t mistake it as something more than it was. (Klaus knew. He’d played that game before, before he realized he didn’t care.) “Man, you’ll get yourself killed.” 

Klaus grinned, jabbing Dave in the ribs with his sharp elbow. Dave relinquished his hold and the absence of his heat left a yawning cavern in Klaus’ chest. “Don’t jinx it, Dave. If I’m gone, who’s gonna clean your gun for you when you forget?” 

“Good thing we’ll never find out,” Dave said. Klaus believed it. 

It wasn’t until the disco in Saigon that Klaus realized how far it had gone. He’d been in Vietnam for five months at that point. Their battalion had gotten an entire five days of leave and Klaus was determined to make the most of it. The second they were free, he had pulled on a tight yellow shirt and a pair of too small jeans and had pulled their small group of friends to the first party he could find. 

God, but it had been so long since Klaus could lose himself in a party. The disco was playing the Doors - Klaus loved the Doors. He probably loved anything. As long as it wasn’t the sound of the rain, or distant gunfire chatter and Klaus was high. Vaguely he remembered bumping into Dave and using the excuse of a crowded dance floor to sidle close until they were inches apart, staring at each other. Chaz broke the spell, crashing into Klaus and sending a cascade of beer down his shirt. 

“What are you two standin’ around for!” he crowed, drunk. “Enjoy yourselves!” 

“I was,” Klaus muttered, wiping his hair back along his skull. He’d smell like beer later, but he’d smelled like worse. Chaz offered him a smile that was probably supposed to be apologetic, but doesn’t actually say anything as another girl has dragged him off into the crowd of people. 

Dave grabbed Klaus’ hand. “Come on,” he said, pulling him towards a side room that’s less crowded. It was quieter beyond the bead curtain. Klaus can still feel the vibration of the music and the murmur of people having a good time, but it’s faded to the background. Dave’s hand was still wrapped around his. 

“Leave it to Chaz to ruin a good time,” Dave said, leaning on the wall. 

“The man never knew how to make an entrance,” Klaus lamented. Running a hand through his foamy hair, Klaus said, “Then again.” They shared a quick grin. In the privacy of the back room, they stood a little closer together. Their arms brushed. Klaus had never felt so scared of anything in his life. It was an absurd thought. Ghosts, childhood trauma, drug abuse, and the thing that made Klaus Hargreeves nervous was the tentative prospect of getting to kiss a boy that he liked. 

“When do you think this shit’s gonna end?” Dave asked suddenly. 

“What shit, the disco? These things go all night, baby.” 

Dave grinned. “No, I mean the war.” He gestured at the building around them, at Chaz and Andrews dancing somewhere behind them. “All this.” 

Klaus squinted. Reginald had drilled them about military history when they were younger, but it had never interested Klaus. If he’d known he was going to be living it, he probably would have paid better attention. Still, Klaus managed to pull, “April 30th, nineteen seventy five,” out of the depths of his brain. 

Dave laughed. “That’s a pretty specific date.” 

“I keep telling you.” Klaus leaned in close, grinning. “I’m from the future.” 

The little smile on Dave’s face fell. “Alright, future boy,” he said. “Can I ask a question?” 

“Shoot.” 

“If you’re from the future, why would you ever come here?” 

Klaus glanced away. “Well,” he said. “I didn’t choose to come here. I just did.”

“Like fate,” Dave said. Klaus looked back at him, eyes a little wide. Dave put his hand on the side of Klaus’ face, his broad palm radiating heat into Klaus’ already saturated skin. 

“Yeah,” Klaus whispered as they gravitated closer, lips finally pressing together. “Like fate.”

**Author's Note:**

> it's almost 12:30 at night and im very tired. As such, im sorry if this is horribly edited. these two are fucking killing me and i had to write something. I have a larger fic waiting in the wings which will hopefully get posted soon. 
> 
> thanks for reading! tell me what you think.


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